The New World — Core Territory of the Whitebeard Pirates.
The colossal Moby Dick cut through the vast, surging seas like a moving fortress.
On deck, the atmosphere was lively and raucous. Crew members drank, sang, arm-wrestled, and laughed loudly, the noise never ceasing for a moment.
Whitebeard sat astride a specially made chair at the very center of the deck, his massive frame like a mountain. In his left hand, he gripped a sake barrel that would have been enormous to any normal man—
Yet in the grasp of his giant, godlike hand, it looked no different from an ordinary cup.
He tipped it back and took a hearty gulp, then let out his trademark laugh.
"Gurarararara!"
The booming sound shook the air itself.
As he looked around at his sons roughhousing like family, his eyes brimmed with warmth and satisfaction.
This feeling—being surrounded by family, immersed in warmth and joy—was what he had sought his entire life. It was the very foundation of the Whitebeard Pirates.
However—
Before the laughter could fade, Whitebeard's expression abruptly froze.
The eyes that had been full of mirth sharpened in an instant, like a lion locking onto its prey, snapping toward the bow of the Moby Dick.
Nearby, Marco was holding a cup of sake. Seeing his old man's sudden change in expression, he felt a flicker of confusion and followed Whitebeard's gaze—
Only to see the air at the ship's bow ripple violently, as if disturbed water were being stirred.
In the very next moment, a figure appeared out of thin air, without the slightest warning.
The man was tall, dressed in a simple black shirt. At his waist hung a black blade wrapped in gray-white bandages—Ba Huang.
It was Gern Reginald Sigmar.
He stood there quietly at the bow, as if he had always been there.
His icy gaze swept across the deck, where everyone had frozen in place, and a suffocating pressure radiated from his body.
In an instant, the Moby Dick—moments ago filled with laughter—fell into absolute silence.
All cheer was cut off. The sound of shattered cups hitting the deck rang out with jarring clarity.
When Gern took a step forward onto the deck, the surrounding pirates—even some division commanders—instinctively parted to either side, like a tide retreating.
Without realizing it, they opened a straight path leading directly to Whitebeard.
This was an instinctive reaction, born of living creatures facing extreme danger and overwhelming presence.
Because a king could only face another king.
At the center of the deck, Whitebeard watched Gern approach step by step. His brows furrowed deeply, his voice low like distant thunder.
"Gern, you brat… you—"
Before he could finish, Gern had already stopped a short distance in front of him.
There was no greeting. He did not even glance at the Whitebeard commanders glaring at him from both sides.
Instead, he raised his arm and hurled the blood-stained bundle he had been carrying straight at Whitebeard.
Thud.
The bundle landed at Whitebeard's feet with a dull impact. Dark red blood quickly seeped out, staining the wooden deck.
Gern lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the strongest man in the world without a trace of fear. His voice was calm—not loud—but carried the unmistakable tone of an order.
"Whitebeard."
"For the next while—stay quiet."
The words fell like cold water into a pot of boiling oil.
The entire deck exploded.
"Bastard! What did you say?!"
"How dare you speak to Pops like that?!"
The newer members of the Whitebeard Pirates erupted in fury.
But then—
Suddenly.
Those who shouted the loudest and tried to rush forward—including even some commander-level figures—were struck by intense dizziness.
Those with weaker strength were hit as if by an invisible sledgehammer. Their eyes rolled back, white foam spilling from their mouths as they collapsed unconscious in clusters.
In the blink of an eye, a large portion of the deck was down.
Marco's expression changed drastically. He immediately shouted at the newcomers behind him who were still barely standing, their faces pale:
"Everyone! Get off the deck right now! Retreat into the cabins!"
"You can't withstand this man's Haki!!"
At the same time, blue flames erupted around Marco as the Phoenix power flared to life, his eyes locked onto Gern as if facing a mortal enemy.
Whitebeard looked down at the blood seeping from the bundle at his feet, then at the sons collapsed across the deck. Finally, his gaze settled on Gern's cold, unwavering face.
He did not erupt immediately.
The massive figure slowly rose from his chair, the shadow he cast nearly engulfing Gern.
But after delivering that single "warning," Gern did not even spare Whitebeard another glance.
He turned around and began walking toward the bow, preparing to leave.
The instant Gern took his third step away—
Whitebeard suddenly swung his left arm and hurled the massive sake barrel like a cannonball straight at Gern's back!
The barrel carried terrifying force and howled through the air at astonishing speed.
Yet, at the very moment it was about to strike—
Crack!!
The air behind Gern shattered as if an invisible pane of glass had been struck, spiderwebs of fractures flashing into existence.
The next instant, it exploded like something solid breaking apart.
The barrel—packed with Whitebeard's monstrous strength—collided with that fractured space and—
BOOM!!
Before even a drop of sake could spill, it detonated midair without warning, bursting into countless splinters and misted alcohol that scattered outward—
Yet not a single fragment touched Gern.
Gern's footsteps halted.
"Gurararara…" Whitebeard let out a low laugh. "Boy… are you ordering me?"
"Heh."
Gern's cold chuckle—spoken without turning around—combined with his attitude, finally ignited Whitebeard's fury completely.
"You arrogant little brat!!!"
Whitebeard roared, his massive body erupting with an overwhelming aura that surged like collapsing mountains and raging seas.
His right hand shot back, gripping the handle of the Supreme Grade Blade—Murakumogiri.
Without the slightest hesitation, he raised the weapon high. Thick, overwhelming Armament Haki instantly coated the blade, turning it even darker and more profound.
Eyes blazing with rage, Whitebeard brought it down toward Gern's back with a brutally simple, overwhelmingly destructive downward slash!
As the blade fell, the air itself screamed under the strain, as though space were about to be torn apart.
Yet—
Faced with a strike powerful enough to cleave a massive warship in two—
Gern, still with his back turned, did not move.
He neither turned nor defended nor dodged.
At the very instant Murakumogiri's edge was about to touch a single strand of Gern's hair—
"CLANG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
A deafening, world-shaking impact exploded outward, like two colossal meteors colliding.
Blinding sparks erupted like fireworks.
A black figure appeared out of nowhere, moving faster than the eye could follow, materializing between Gern and Whitebeard's blade.
The newcomer gripped the massive, cross-shaped black sword Yoru with both hands, bracing it sideways like a shield—
And blocked Whitebeard's furious strike head-on.
The shockwave from the collision expanded in a circular blast, instantly clearing away unconscious pirates and splintered debris from the deck.
The one who intervened—
Was Dracule "Hawk-Eye" Mihawk, arriving a fraction too late.
The reinforced deck beneath his feet groaned under the strain and collapsed inward, a large section caving in.
Mihawk's hands—and even his arms—trembled slightly, his grip numbed by the impact.
Yet there was no pain on his cold, sharp face.
Instead, a faint curve of excitement appeared—the expression of someone who had finally encountered a worthy opponent.
He lifted his gaze to Whitebeard, who stood like a god of war before him, and let out a light laugh.
"As expected of the strongest man in the world…"
"This power… is truly astonishing."
"Whitebeard."
At the same time, Gern slightly tilted his head, glancing back at Whitebeard from the corner of his eye.
His gaze was colder than ice, utterly devoid of emotion. His voice was calm—yet carried a resolve that chilled the marrow.
"I'll say this once."
"For the next while—stay quiet."
Faced with that look, Whitebeard was visibly shaken.
For a moment, he made no further move—until Gern had completely disappeared from sight.
...
"P-Pops!!!"
At that moment, a scream filled with sheer terror and disbelief exploded from behind Whitebeard.
Marco had somehow fallen to the deck. With a trembling hand, he pointed at the blood-stained bundle Gern had thrown down—
Now torn open.
His face was deathly pale, as if he had seen a ghost, his voice cracking:
"T-The thing Gern sent… i-inside it… it's—i-it's a Celestial Dragon!!!"
The words struck like thunder, slamming into everyone still conscious on the deck.
Whitebeard's piercing gaze, which had been locked on Mihawk, trembled violently and snapped around.
His eyes fixed on the scene not far away.
From the opened bundle, two heads rolled out.
Their faces were twisted, frozen in expressions of extreme terror from the moment of death.
Their signature bubble helmets were shattered—but the luxurious garments they wore…
Left no doubt whatsoever about their horrifying identities.
They were the very two Celestial Dragons Gern had beheaded at Sabaody Archipelago.
Whitebeard's pupils shrank to razor-thin points.
Even for a man who had weathered countless storms, hailed as the strongest in the world, his heart jolted violently at the sight of those two heads.
In an instant—
Gern's icy gaze, his commanding tone, his undisguised killing intent and madness—
All of it flashed through Whitebeard's mind, connecting into a clear and terrifying conclusion.
That madman…
That complete, utter madman!!!
He wasn't merely provoking the World Government—
He was trying to punch a hole straight through the sky itself!
And his visit here—throwing down these unbearably hot heads—wasn't for boasting or threats.
He had truly come to warn Whitebeard.
To tell him that a storm was coming.
And at its center stood Gern Reginald Sigmar and the World Government.
The Whitebeard Pirates were to stay out of it.
Watch from the sidelines.
Do not interfere.
Otherwise… you'll be dealt with first.
After piecing it all together, Whitebeard's massive chest rose and fell several times before finally settling.
His eyes became unfathomably deep and heavy.
"…That lunatic," he muttered.
Then Whitebeard took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing all anger and shock, and made the decision most fitting for his position—and his family.
He turned to Marco, his voice steady once more, but carrying unquestionable authority.
"Marco!"
"Immediately—take these… 'things,'" Whitebeard said, pointing at the heads with unconcealed disgust,"and deliver them in the most appropriate way to the nearest Marine base outside Marineford. Let them deal with it themselves."
"And at the same time!"
Whitebeard's voice rose, echoing across the entire Moby Dick.
"Pass down my order! From today onward, without my explicit permission, none of our affiliated crews are to approach the waters surrounding G-10 Base—under any circumstances!"
The moment the order was given, an uproar rippled through the officers still standing.
But seeing Whitebeard's grave expression—and the horrifying heads on the deck—everyone understood how serious the situation was.
The territories of the New World's "Emperors" overlapped like interlocking fangs.
And among them, Whitebeard's domain shared the longest border with Gern's G-10 sphere of influence.
With two Celestial Dragon heads, Gern had forcibly drawn an uncrossable red line in front of Whitebeard.
And now—
Whitebeard chose to accept that line.
Not because he feared Gern.
But because he knew that once drawn into the coming all-out conflict between Gern and the World Government, it would become a vortex capable of annihilating everything.
For the sake of his entire "family," he had to avoid the blade's edge—for now.
Whitebeard once more looked toward the direction Gern had disappeared, his expression incomparably complex.
He didn't know all the hidden details.
He only knew one thing—
The world was about to change.